


Tears Shared By Two (Something I Wasn't Expecting Today)

by orphan_account



Category: Panic! at the Disco
Genre: Crying, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Not Sure Why I Wrote This, but there's no reason mentioned about dallon crying, caring brendon, emotional breakdown, h/c, i love these fics and there isn't enough of them, i love writing sad stuff??, maybe there will be someday, sad dallon, this is based on some personal stuff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-25
Updated: 2016-11-25
Packaged: 2018-09-02 05:38:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,276
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8652958
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Brendon wished that he had his skateboard with him—this hallway would be perfect for it! Gentle curves, nice carpet, minimal bumps. He bent down to feel the material first hand and had just stood back up again when he heard it. It was a heartbreaking sound, resonating from the door just to his left. The door wasn’t even that obvious, it was set back into the wall and was painted the same awful mustard yellow color. From the outside, Brendon could hear sobbing, or what sounded like it. He couldn’t tell who it was, the voice was too obstructed by the roughness of the crying.





	

**Author's Note:**

> this is kinda something that just needed to be written. these types of fics make my heart hurt in the best way, and i wanted to contribute. so, here it is. thinking about this, it's a really creepy thing to be writing about, emotional breakdown and all, but i needed to.
> 
> :)
> 
> unedited!!!!

The venue that night was rather warm and it was obvious that the air conditioning wasn’t working, but that didn’t really bother any of the guys. Brendon mopped his forehead and continued to stroll the quiet halls, unable to dispel his nervous energy. The florescent lights strung to the ceiling did little to brighten the shadowed hall and more to raise it a few degrees. Brendon’s footsteps were muffled by the heavy, scratchy carpet laid, so he could hear the distinct voices of his bandmates and crew rather clearly.

Normally their venues were rather nice—modern walling, high-tech systems, etc. —but this one happened to be in the middle of nowhere Kansas, so the newest innovations weren’t exactly expected. Despite that, their show wasn’t for maybe another 4 hours, so Brendon was _really bored_. There was nothing to do—no video games, nothing.

Spencer and Ian were off God-knows where. Making out, maybe. A guy could dream—they were so very obviously in love, even if they didn’t show it on stage. Brendon and, hell, even Dallon, one of the most clueless guys in the universe, knew it. Brendon hoped that they had realized it by now. They always disappeared before and after shows for hours, giving Brendon and Dallon _no_ clues to where they would be going. Brendon sighed.

He didn’t even know where Dallon went. He—Dallon—seemed to be very distant, especially earlier that day. Brendon had stumbled upon his wistfully staring out the bus window, or blankly at his phone. He had asked what was wrong, but Dallon didn’t seem to want to say. Brendon let it go, but he wanted to know what was up with his friend. Dallon, currently, was probably off somewhere, alone, brooding. Brendon decided that he wouldn’t go looking for him.

Brendon wished that he had his skateboard with him—this hallway would be perfect for it! Gentle curves, nice carpet, minimal bumps. He bent down to feel the material first hand and had just stood back up again when he heard it.

It was a heartbreaking sound, resonating from the door just to his left. The door wasn’t even that obvious, it was set back into the wall and was painted the same awful mustard yellow color. From the outside, Brendon could hear sobbing, or what sounded like it. He couldn’t tell who it was, the voice was too obstructed by the roughness of the crying.

A list of names flitted through Brendon’s head, but none seemed to match. He didn’t even know if it was someone in their crew or not, but all he knew was that he wanted to comfort them. He just didn’t know how without it getting really awkward, like: “Hey, I heard you crying, are you okay?”

Brendon just wanted to know that they were okay. It was second nature to him—don’t shy away from those who are upset, help them, don’t leave them. He wished that sometimes people thought to do that for him, too, but he didn’t want to think about that. He would be the better person, unlike… _him_. Brendon shut his eyes tightly, so tightly it almost hurt, to disperse those thoughts. He was over it; it was years ago.

He took a deep breath and ambled closer to the door. The crying only got louder with every progressing step. He steeled himself—others crying almost always led him to crying, a fact about himself that he hated. He wasn’t going to cry, he wasn’t going to cry.

Brendon reached his hand up, and slowly pulled open the door. It wasn’t locked—why would it be? —but Brendon wasn’t worried about that. He was more preoccupied at the _who_ that was crying on the couch. Honestly, it was the last person that he would expect to be broken down, sobbing like a child.

_Dallon._

Brendon’s throat closed slightly in response to the depressing sight. Dallon, tall, emotionally stable, Dallon, was curled up upon himself, head tucked in his lap, long legs pulled in as best as he could, body shaking violently. Dallon didn’t notice Brendon opening the door, nor notice him walking through said door and closing it lightly. The _click_ of the lock nearly scared Brendon out of his socks. He glanced back at Dallon’s body.

He didn’t know how to approach this. His main instinct was to just run up and give him a huge hug, but this was unfamiliar territory—they haven’t been friends for very long (a few months) so he didn’t know his boundaries. With Spencer, it was different, since they’ve known each other forever. Brendon carefully made his way over to the couch, eyes watering slightly. He’d heard a lot of crying in his life, but it was nothing like _this_.

It was uncontrolled, ugly; it was the type of crying one would never expect to hear—the type someone does alone. Brendon knew that he and Dallon would be closer at the end of his, but he didn’t know how to get to that point. _How to comfort… how to comfort…_

Dallon still hadn’t noticed him, just standing there, and didn’t notice him until Brendon finally took the plunge and sat down next to him. The sounds stopped abruptly and Brendon held his breath; he could feel Dallon’s warm weight to his left, sitting very still. A lone tear slid down his face, and dripped onto Brendon’s skinny jeans.

“B-Brendon?” Dallon’s voice was raspy and choked. Brendon placed his hand on Dallon’s thigh, massaging the flesh

“Don’t worry, Dallon. I’m here for you.” Even to Brendon, he knew that this probably wasn’t the most helpful thing to say. And that he most likely wasn’t helping. But, surprisingly, Dallon resituated his body, sitting more upright, and laid his head onto Brendon’s shoulder. Brendon closed his eyes again for a second against another onslaught of wetness and gripped Dallon’s thigh a bit tighter. He couldn’t handle the idea of Dallon being _this_ distressed; _he_ was the one that was supposed to be a mess.

They sat stock still for another moment, before Brendon got the clue and wrapped his arms around Dallon’s steadily shaking form. The moment his arms fully encircled the larger man, Dallon melted into his embrace. Dallon’s hair tickled Brendon’s nose as he shook; tears fell swiftly out of his red-rimmed eyes, wetting Brendon’s shoulder and chest. He didn’t mind.

“Sh, sh, sh, sh,” Brendon mumbled, rubbing Dallon’s back as he cried harder. “What’s wrong, you can tell me.”

Dallon took a shaky breath, tears still streaming down his face. Brendon felt his heart constrict. “N-Not n-now,” Dallon whispered. “P-Please.”

“Of course, Dal.” Brendon held the older man tighter. Dallon let out another loud sob, nearly breaking Brendon’s heart again, before forcing himself quiet—Brendon knew that he wasn’t all cried-out, far from it, really, as he was still shaking. Hard.

“I’ll t-t-tell y-y-you s-s-sometime. B-But n-not now…” he trailed off, and Brendon rubbed his back harder.

“I got you,” he whispered into Dallon’s ear as he began to cry again, “don’t you worry. Don’t you worry.”

They sat in near silence, minus Dallon’s occasionally gasps, until sometime later. Brendon was unsure of how much time had passed, but after about 20 minutes he felt Dallon’s grip on his tee shirt weaken slightly, and his grip weaken.

He had fallen asleep.

Brendon carded his fingers through the now-sleeping man’s head, smiling slightly. He looked adorable—minus the tear tracks and puffy eyes—and Brendon hoped that he was okay. Hopefully he’ll get a straight answer when they talk later. For now, they will rest.

“’Night, Dal,” he murmured.


End file.
